Godzilla vs Cloverfield: Duel of the Leviathans
by disayle31
Summary: In 2008, a giant monster attack resulted in the destruction of New York City. Six years later, Joe Brody survived the Janjira incident, but Ford Brody died in the attack on San Francisco. Drs. Serizawa and Graham continue their work with Monarch, but after two terrible monster attacks in a single decade, pressure is growing on the organization to prevent the next attack-or else.
1. Chapter 1: For Even and Morn

Foreword: This story follows an alternate continuity in which the Cloverfield monster was killed by the HAMMER-DOWN Protocol, but the bombing destroyed much of New York City. The city's loss sent shockwaves crashing through the world economy and plunged the United States from the Great Recession into the Second Great Depression. Six years later, Joe Brody survived the Janjira incident, but during the San Francisco attack, Godzilla wasn't fast enough to stop the female MUTO from killing Ford Brody. Ishiro Serizawa and Vivienne Graham discover something horrifying about the Cloverfield monster and seek out Joe's help for their organization, Monarch. The story also includes references to Godzilla: Awakening and Kong: Skull Island.

* * *

Joe Brody walked up to the lectern. His left arm lay immobilized in a cast, but he was able to use that hand to hold the note cards for his speech. The room was mostly quiet, with some whisperings and murmurings that died as he cleared his throat. A casket stood directly to the lectern's right, but everyone knew it was empty. Ford's body was gone—swallowed whole by the MUTO and likely incinerated when the other creature, Godzilla, had blown its head off. Just like Sandra, they would be burying a hollow piece of wood.

"Um, hello," he began. His voice came out a rasp, and he coughed. "Hello. I'd…I'd like to thank you all for coming today." He cast his gaze over those gathered: Sam, Elle, her mother Amanda and father Tim, her sister Dianne and husband Abdul, and Sandra's parents. Joe was the sole representative from his side of the family; like Ford, he had been an only child. His parents had died peacefully five years ago. _A peaceful death…seems like a luxury these days._ Many of Ford's military friends were present with their spouses as well. There were some others who he didn't recognize—probably more of Elle's family who he'd never met. "I'm sure this is a very difficult time for all of you. It means a lot that you found the time to attend this." And then he saw the two faces that he hoped to never see again: a grave-faced Japanese man with rimless glasses, and a misty-eyed Englishwoman. His jaw tightened, but he pressed on.

"When Ford was a little boy, he loved monster movies. Couldn't get enough of them. Every Saturday morning in Japan, I'd sit with him on my lap and we'd watch those movies. The special effects were always terrible, and the acting was cheesy as all get out, but…they had a certain kind of charm even to an old fuddy-duddy like me. It's an ironic twist of fate that he was killed by something that would have made him laugh with glee if he had seen it on a Saturday morning special." Joe let out a humorless chuckle, which quickly morphed into a sob. "My son…my wonderful son…"

With a mighty effort, he forced himself to keep going. "Make no mistake: these creatures, these kaiju killed him. Ford will never grow old with his wife, see his son grow up to become a man. He'll never know what it's like to hold his grandchildren in his arms. So much of his life was stolen away from him by those…things. But to all of you here, I will make you a promise: I will not let Ford's death be in vain. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that." _Whatever it takes_. The same words he'd spoken to Ford when he thought he'd never see him again. _Protect your family—whatever it takes._ And Ford had done just that. _He did what I told him to…and it got him killed._

"Thank you all for coming," Joe finished, and left the lectern. His speech wasn't nearly as long as Elle's had been, but she had known Ford much better than he had. _His military buddies knew him better than I did._ As he headed back to his seat, he caught the eyes of Drs. Ishiro Serizawa and Vivienne Graham. Graham quickly looked away, but Serizawa held his gaze until Joe reached his seat and broke eye contact. Joe didn't pay much attention to the rest of the funeral, looking at his hands instead and trying not to cry. When the proceedings moved outside to lower the coffin into the ground, he followed them mutely, staring down. The voices around him became muffled, the faces blurred. Eventually, almost all the attendees left...save for Elle, Sam, and the scientists, who kept a respectful distance for the moment.

"I miss Daddy," Sam sobbed.

"I know, Sammy, I miss him too." Elle picked him up and held him close. "Joe, we have to get going. Will you be alright?"

"Yeah...I'll catch up with you later."

"Okay." She put Sam down and gently nudged him forward. "Give Grandpa a hug, sweetie."

Sam did as she told him to, embracing Joe's leg, but the hug wasn't very enthusiastic. _Can't blame him_ , Joe thought. _I haven't been the happy jolly grandpa most kids have._

Elle's hug was little better, though she did avoid aggravating his injured arm. Then she took Sam's hand and lead him away. "Say bye-bye, Grandpa."

"Bye-bye, Grandpa." Joe's heart shattered into a million pieces at those words. He stayed standing like a statue in front of his son's new grave. A cold wind blew through the cemetery, but he forgot to shiver.

"Mr. Brody?" He didn't respond to the Japanese-accented voice behind him. "…Mr. Brody?"

Joe knelt and rested his good hand on the tombstone. It read: _Ford Brody. July 15th_ _, 1988 – May 6_ _th_ _, 2014. Beloved son and husband._ Below it was a quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson: "So let the wind range, for even and morn, ever will be thro' eternity." _Not what I would have put there. But it wasn't up to me._

"Mr. Brody, please," Dr. Graham's British accent implored him.

"What do you want?" he growled, without looking or getting up.

"We want to pay our respects. We are so very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." Joe's curt reply did not carry a hint of gratitude. "Now leave. I'm sure you have a monster to go worship."

"Mr. Brody, if we could just speak to you for a moment-"

"How many others?"

"Pardon?"

"How many other soldiers' funerals have you attended?"

"I'm not sure I understand-"

"How many?!" Joe exploded, whirling around. "Ford wasn't the only one. Those things killed dozens of soldiers and God knows how many more civilians. How many of their funerals have you attended?!"

Dr. Graham was taken aback. "None," Joe guessed from her and Serizawa's silence. "You haven't attended any other funerals for the monsters' victims. So why are you really here?!"

Serizawa stepped forward. "Because we need your help, Mr. Brody. There are-"

"And why would I help you?" Joe cut him off. "Your precious monsters killed my son, my wife, and thousands of others. If it wasn't for you and your goddamn organization, none of this would have happened in the first place!"

The Japanese man didn't waver. "You're right," he replied. "Without us, the death toll would have been in the millions, or even billions, rather than the thousands." Joe rolled his eyes, but Serizawa pressed on. "You are not the only one who has lost people they love to these creatures, Mr. Brody. And if you don't help us, the next attack may be the one that destroys the human race."

That got Joe's attention. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, that's classified. And your special access is no longer valid." Dr. Graham looked genuinely apologetic as she delivered this bad news. Just then, her phone rang and, stepping away, she put it to her ear. "This is Dr. Graham."

Joe felt the old urge rise inside of him again: the thirst for knowledge of the world's hidden secrets. The thirst that set him on the path which lead to Ford's death. He shook his head. "No. I'm through with Monarch. My family—what's left of them—needs my help more."

"Very well." Serizawa reached into his pocket and handed Joe a card. "But if you change your mind, you can reach me at this number."

"Don't hold your breath. We're done here." Joe turned and strode away.

Serizawa remained where he was, watching the sunset. "We'll be there ASAP," Graham said, and hung up. She put a gentle hand on his arm. "Come on, Sensei. They need us at HQ."

The two scientists returned to their car. "Take us to the airport," Graham told the driver.

"On it, ma'am." The vehicle warmed up, pulled out of the cemetery's parking lot, and sped away.

"Do you think he'll reconsider?" Graham asked.

"I pray he does. For all our sakes."

* * *

Next time: Joe looks for a job as he, Elle, and Sam all try to adjust to life without Ford. Serizawa and Graham make a horrifying discovery, while a Canadian research ship in the Atlantic suffers a mysterious setback.

Final note: If you read this, you may be wondering "How can there be a Godzilla vs. Cloverfield story when Cloverfield is dead in this continuity?!" All I have to say is: stay tuned. ;)


	2. Chapter 2: Of Monsters and Men

Author's Foreword: Argh. Sorry this took so long to get out. I thought the next chapter would be around 2,000 words at most…how wrong I was. I just couldn't stop seeing opportunities to expand, flesh things out, elaborate! When I finally decided to chop it into two chapters, it had grown to over 7,000 words. So the bad news is that this chapter won't cover all the things I said it would in Chapter 1's "next time". However, there is good news: Chapter 3 will be posted much more quickly than this one—and that is a promise. Look for it by the end of this weekend. But not for now, enjoy Chapter 2 of Godzila vs. Cloverfield! I've included a few Easter egg references here and there—see if you can find them all. ;)

* * *

 **Atlantic Ocean, Laurentian Abyss, 19,000 feet.**

The remote-operated vehicle cruised through the crushing depths, its headlights on and instruments acute. The pilot at the surface, onboard the Canadian research vessel CCGS _Hudson_ , was part of an ambitious expedition to map the Laurentian Abyss in detail for the first time. A team of science students from the University of Toronto presided over the operation, lead by the school's chief oceanographer, Dr. Roy MacDonald. They all had high hopes for the excursion. Who knew what wonders they would discover down there that had lain hidden for millennia…until now. Whatever was present, the ROV would find it with its cutting-edged instruments, including omnidirectional sonar. MacDonald and his students watched the live feed from the ROV's cameras and instruments intently as it neared the seafloor.

Suddenly, one of his students pointed at the sonar screen. "What's that?"

Looking, MacDonald saw a series of hills show up on the display. "That doesn't make sense." He rubbed his chin. "The Abyss is supposed to be all flat."

"Should I take a closer look, Doctor?" the pilot asked, looking back at them.

The Canadian scientist nodded his assent, and the pilot steered the craft in for a closer inspection of the odd mounds. They appeared to be composed of ordinary sand, but then the ROV's propellers blew away some of it and exposed smooth rock underneath.

"That doesn't look anything like stone from the seafloor," another student mused. "It's too…even."

"Get a sample, Vasquez," MacDonald ordered.

"On it." The pilot pressed a button on his keyboard, which caused the ROV to deploy a small scraper from its myriad assortment of tools. He carefully extended the tool forward and, once it had made contact with the stone mound, activated the utensil.

Moments after the instrument began scraping at the material's surface, motion flickered at the edge of the ROV's camera, and a new anomalous shape appeared on sonar for a split second. Then the ROV's signal was lost in a burst of static.

The feedback made them all jump, even the pilot. "What the…" MacDonald exclaimed.

"I guess something hungry came along," Vasquez said.

"A deep-sea shark, maybe?" postulated one of the students.

"That sounds about right." MacDonald let out a frustrated sigh. "It's a good thing we brought more ROV's. Let's send two more down, and make sure they cover each other's blindspots." He picked up the ship's phone and called the ROV mechanic. "Jimmy? We just lost Martha. Could you prepare Bonnie and Clyde for descent?"

"Martha? Aw, for cryin'…okay. They'll be ready to dive in half an hour."

"Thanks, Jimmy."

"You can thank me by not getting more of my babies destroyed. What was it?"

"We don't know yet. Probably a really hungry shark, or a sperm whale that wasn't watching where it was going."

"Alright." The mechanic hung up.

Turning back to his students, MacDonald saw them studying the last recorded sonar ping from Martha. "Doctor," one of them said, "This doesn't look anything like a shark."

"You're right, LeBeau. But that doesn't mean we caught whatever killed Martha on the sonar. That's unlike any sonar signature I've ever seen. It was probably just a glitch, sort of like her death rattle."

Half an hour later, Bonnie and Clyde dropped into the ocean. It took them about an hour and a half to descend, and by the time they reached the site of Martha's demise, the strange hills were gone, replaced by an equally-bizarre series of depressions. A few small puffs of silt floated around the area, and a dozen metres away lay the scattered, twisted remains of the first ROV.

* * *

 **San Francisco General Hospital.**

The sound started faint, like it always did, with a distant mournful lowing. Sweat prickled on her upper lip, and the sound, which had seemed sad at first, began to change as the train drew closer. Louder now, it began to take on an anxious sound. Even as it grew in volume and changed into an impossibly angry shriek, terror flooded through Elle's body and her hands spasmed. The clipboard fell from her grip, landing on the floor with a clatter. Suddenly, she wasn't in San Francisco General anymore. She was back in a bomb shelter under the hospital, crammed together with the remaining staff and patients while the MUTOs, those horrible abominations that had brought the city to its knees, howled and wailed above them. Interspersed among their screeches were the roars of the other creature…what was its name? She couldn't remember its name. She couldn't remember her name, her husband's name, her son's name. She couldn't remember anything except for the dreadful noises coming from above, the raw horror that pulsed through her veins with every heartbeat, the excruciating uncertainty every time the ceiling trembled over their heads. Would this be it? Would a monster's foot break through the concrete reinforcements and crush the bomb shelter and everyone in it? She couldn't even scream, just crouched on the floor with her mouth open and air coming out, but no sound.

Finally, the train passed, the airhorn fading, and with it, so did the attack. She returned to herself. With a deep breath, she reached down and picked up the clipboard. But her episode had not gone unnoticed. Several of her coworkers looked at her askance. "Elle? Are you okay?" Her friend—and recently-promoted boss—Laura called as she approached from down the hall.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine. Just dropped the clipboard."

Laura's look of concern didn't ease, but she said lightly, "Let's get some coffee." The two friends walked down to the small break room. As she had known it would be, the coffee/tea/hot chocolate vending machine was empty of product or other staff. Once they were alone, Laura leaned in close and dropped her voice. "Elle, cut the crap. You've been working your ass off these past few weeks, but every time a train passes or a ship blows its horn, you just shut down."

"They startle me, that's all."

They'd been friends long enough that Laura didn't have to actually say "Bullshit," but she very clearly conveyed that response before going on. "I know you, Elle—you're not okay, and you're not fooling me. I want you to take some time away from the hospital and collect yourself. Do it before you hurt someone."

The tremendous longing to do just that swelled up in Elle's chest, but she fought it back and shook her head. "No. I'm not the only one here who's lost people. Indira lost her brother. Jacob lost his daughter. Dr. Zhong lost his whole family. None of them are taking time off."

"Would _he_ want you to do that, to make yourself sick and crazy?"

Elle responded hotly, "You know damn well that if I had died instead, Ford would be out there helping people as much as he could, no matter what."

"Elle, you're one of our finest nurses, but you can't help people if you fall apart every time a horn goes off somewhere. What if that happens when you're working on a patient in critical condition? They could die while you're having a panic attack. They need you at your best. _I_ need you at your best."

Something about Laura's compassion for her weakness irritated Elle. "So don't put me with any critical patients, until I get better," she snapped, and then, with one of those abrupt emotional shifts she had been having so little success in controlling since Ford's death, she pleaded, "I can't take time off, Laura. I just can't."

One reason they'd become nurses was because of their strong shared desire to help people. Laura had that in abundance, along with the necessary ruthlessness that would enable a good nurse to hurt someone, if it would help them. She played dirty now. "If you won't do it for yourself or for me, then what about Sam? Seeing each other some more would do you both a world of good."

"Joe is keeping an eye on him right now while he looks for a job." It sounded like a feeble excuse even to her ears. There was more she didn't add: _Every time I see Sam or Joe, I just want to start screaming because it's like Ford is still alive and looking back at me. I have to close my eyes every time I kiss Sam or hug him. I have to wear earplugs at night because of the trains and the ships. I scream and cry myself to sleep every night, and every time the floor shakes at all, I wake up screaming again. This is the only place where I have some semblance of structure, of stability._

Her boss seemed to pick up on it nonetheless. "Look, I can't even begin to understand how rough things are for you right now. But you need help, Elle. You have to do whatever it takes for you to improve. And there's no way you're going to improve on your own."

Elle let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Help? Who could possibly help me?"

"I've been meaning to give this to you, but I didn't want to intrude on your privacy, you know?" Laura reached into a pocket on her uniform and produced a brochure, which she handed to Elle. The title read _Of Monsters and Men: A Support Group for People Affected by the Monsters of Our World. Hosted by Lily Ford and sponsored by the Ford Foundation._ Elle's breath caught in her throat upon seeing the word "Ford", but she opened the brochure nonetheless. "The first meeting is tonight," Laura continued. "As your boss, as your coworker, and as your friend, I'm telling you to check it out. If I can't convince you to take some time off, then at least try this group."

Elle sighed. "If I say I'll go, will you get off my back?"

Her friend smiled slightly. "Only if you go and don't like it."

"Alright. Fine. I'll go."

"I'll hold you to that."

Laura put a comforting hand on her arm, and then left Elle with her thoughts. The rest of the work day proceeded somewhat uneventfully, though Elle still clenched her teeth and scrunched her eyes shut whenever a horn sounded. After she finished her shift, she went out to her car—Ford's car—in the parking lot and sat inside it for a while, looking at the brochure. She very nearly crumpled it and tossed it out the window, but the section about Lily Ford stopped her: _Lily Ford was in Old New York City the night of January 18_ _th_ _, 2008, when the creature known as Cloverfield attacked. She was the sole survivor of a group of friends that included her fiancée, his brother, and their best friend. After the attack, she created the Ford Foundation with the goal of helping people whose lives have been affected by the giant beasts of our world._ Of Monsters And Men _draws directly from Ms. Ford's own experience in leading support groups for survivors of the New York attack, and is highly recommended for those who have been victimized by these beasts._ The accompanying picture showed a rather exotic-looking dark-skinned woman, somewhat older than Elle, but she still looked young and attractive.

Elle rolled her eyes, but decided that it couldn't hurt to go to just one meeting. She started the car and drove out of the hospital's staff parking lot, into the dirty, packed city streets. Along the way, she pulled out her phone and had it call Joe.

After a few rings, he picked up. "Hello, Elle." His voice…so like Ford's…

"Hey, Joe. I'm going to be coming home late tonight. Could you make some dinner for Sam?"

"Again? Okay, I'll take care of it. When will you be back?"

"In time to put Sam to bed. How did your job interview go?"

Joe heaved a frustrated sigh. "Interview? I waited in line all day with what must have been about 500 people, never even got near the damn door."

"I'm sorry…"

"Me too."

An awkward silence grew between them. Finally, Joe said, "I guess I'll see you later tonight."

"See you," Elle agreed, and hung up.

Traffic was horrible, as per the course for San Francisco. The Depression had only made it worse. It took her an hour and a half to travel to the address on the brochure. At least the parking lot had one space left, which she wasted no time in acquiring. She entered the building and traveled up a few flights of stairs to reach the conference room where the support group was being held. Upon opening the door, she found the group already in session. The participants were seated around a square table with some snacks and water bottles.

"…people were cheering, then the creature grazed the tower as it passed us and the building…just leaned over us like it was a drunk man falling," a woman in a wheelchair was saying. Her legs were nothing but thigh stumps wrapped in bandages. "We all tried to run, but we weren't fast enough…it landed on my wife and son, and it landed on my legs."

The attendants all turned to look at the new arrival, and Elle felt irrationally self-conscious. She did see a familiar face: Jacob, one of her coworkers from the hospital. She also recognized Lily Ford from the picture in the brochure, sitting at the head of the group. Lily stood and greeted her with a warm, honest smile. "Hello. Welcome to the group. Don't worry, you're only about ten minutes late. I'm rather surprised that you're our only late arrival so far, given the traffic situation in San Francisco."

That got a small chuckle out of the other attendants, and even Elle's mouth twitched upwards. "Please, join us," Lily said. "You can take my chair; I'll get another one." She went over to the corner of the room and pulled out another chair. "We've started out by telling the stories of our experiences during the incident."

"Thank you," Elle murmured, and took her seat. For the next hour, she listened to the various terrifying tales of disaster and woe from the San Francisco survivors. Some told stories of loved ones buried beneath destroyed buildings, like the woman in the wheelchair. Others described the loss of their workplaces, how their families were now facing financial ruin. Still others expounded on how a monster had wounded them directly, showing their casts and stumps. An unlucky few's stories overlapped between those categories, though thankfully none had lost family, workplaces _and_ limbs. In addition, a significant number of the attendees were using old-fashioned ear trumpets to listen, their hearing having been damaged by the monsters' screeches. Hearing aids hadn't been in widespread use for six years now—just another casualty of the Depression.

"Ma'am?" Starting, she realized it was her turn. She looked around at the other attendants, cleared her throat, and began. "My name is Elle Brody. The monsters killed my husband." Once she started, she couldn't stop. It all just tumbled out—the hours spent huddled in the bomb shelter and listening to the monsters shriek above them, Joe's tearful face as he told her what had happened to Ford, the nights of screaming and crying herself to sleep, the panic attacks caused by train and ship horns, overworking herself at the hospital, unable to look at her son or her father-in-law without wanting to scream…with the words came a flood of tears, of which plenty had already been shed by the other attendants. A part of her was amazed that she could choke out coherent words through her sobs, but she managed it somehow. When she had finally laid bare her tortured soul for all to see, she sniffled, "That's all I have. I know it's not as bad as what some of you have gone through—"

"Stop." Looking up, she saw Lily Ford's eyes glistening, as they had been throughout the entire session. However, when the woman spoke, her voice was strong and resolute. "Thank you for sharing, Elle. But we are not here to have a contest on who suffered the most. We are here to help each other get better. Do you understand?"

"I think I do…"

"Let's find out. Now that we've all told our stories, we can move on to the next part…"

Elle didn't precisely feel better when the session ended, but when she returned home and saw Joe and Sam, she thought the usual surge of heartache felt just a tiny bit less painful than it had been before.

* * *

 **San Francisco, the next day.**

"…and where were you educated?" the bespectacled woman asked.

 _It's on my resume, you idiot. Didn't even bother to look, did you?_ "MIT, Master's in Engineering. Class of 1979." Joe managed to keep the irritation out of his voice…barely.

"I see. Well, Mr. Brody, I think this meeting has been…productive. Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch."

"It was a pleasure." He got up, adjusted his suit and tie, and walked out of the office. "We'll be in touch," he muttered under his breath. _No, you won't._ He knew that phrase and the look that went with it all too well—they had been the common theme at every other job interview he'd had these past few weeks. Whenever he heard that phrase or something similar, the prospective employer invariably failed to keep their word. _No one wants to hire an old man just a few years away from retirement._

As he exited the office, the next applicant walked in—only the latest in a line that went out the building and wrapped around it multiple times. He slipped on his old leather jacket, checked his watch, which read 12:30, and heaved a sigh. He'd arrived at 7:30 and at least a hundred other people had still gotten there before him. _Four hours of waiting…all for nothing. And to think, just a few months ago they said that the worst was finally over._ He proceeded through the streets of San Francisco, which were littered with cars, other pedestrians, and homeless people pushing shopping carts full of their belongings or loitering wherever they could find space. Numerous buildings were run-down and lifeless, their windows boarded up and graffiti covering their walls. Many of the stores and offices had large "going out of business" signs plastered over their fronts, and Joe saw only one with a "help wanted, now hiring" sign. That building had an even longer line of applicants going out its door than the place he had applied to.

After plodding along for ten blocks, Joe reached the bus stop and, with no surprise at all, found it crowded with other travelers awaiting transportation. _It would almost be faster to walk home…almost._ He slumped down against the edge of the stop's outside wall, wincing as his joints protested, and pulled his copy of _Moby Dick_ from his jacket pocket. As he did, something stuck to the back cover fell off...a card. When he picked it up, his gut seized: It was Dr. Serizawa's card, the number written in plain black below the Japanese characters that spelled out his name.

For a long moment, Joe thought about calling that number. Then he shuddered, tucked it back into his jacket, and opened the book. He managed to read through several chapters before an engine's low growling and coughing signaled the bus's arrival. The doors opened with a hiss of hydraulics, and the waiting travelers crammed themselves onto the bus, just barely managing to fit all of themselves onto the vehicle. Joe was forced to stand in the center of the aisle, holding onto one of the overhead rungs for balance with his good hand. _At least I'm not getting squished in between fat people._ Almost none of the bus riders were overweight—a situation reflected in the rest of the city and the nation at large. _If the Depression has done anything good for us, it's cut down on obesity rates._

Joe braced himself as the bus doors hissed closed and the vehicle lurched into motion. Unable to read properly with his bad arm alone, he reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed his phone. Pictures of Ford, Sandra, Elle, and baby Sam flashed at him when he woke it up, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He swallowed and went to CNN, where a list of headlines awaited him: _Dow Jones Industrial Average falls to lowest point since Depression began. US unemployment rate climbs to 20%, up from 17% before May. Experts estimate total cost of property damage from the MUTOs in the tens of billions, reconstruction five years at minimum. US Navy on high alert: Giant creature known as "Godzilla" projected to pass by Hawaii on August 2_ _nd_ _, but not expected to make landfall. Referendum in Hempstead, New York passes to officially change its name to Nouveau Manhattan._ He tapped on the last one and started reading.

"With all precincts reporting, it appears that the name Hempstead, New York will soon be a thing for the history books. The city's residents have voted to pass a measure that will officially change its name to Nouveau Manhattan, completing a movement that first began in late 2011 when Michael Bloomberg, then-former mayor of Old New York City, proposed the measure during his campaign for mayor of Hempstead. As many will know, however, the roots of the name change can be traced back to the night of January 18th, 2008, when the enormous creature called 'Cloverfield' attacked Old New York City. After the unprepared military spent hours fruitlessly attempting to kill the creature with small-scale weapons, the President authorized the usage of the HAMMER-DOWN Protocol in a last-ditch effort. The thermobaric bombs deployed manage to finally bring the gigantic beast down, but obliterated what was left of the city. While the vast majority of Old NYC's populace was evacuated before the bombing began, they returned to find their homes, schools, businesses, and places of worship reduced to little more than ash and cinders. Some former New Yorkers chose to leave forever, but many more vowed to rebuild their lives as close to their old home as possible, and moved to the unaffected eastern regions of Long Island. A prominent community of former New Yorkers sprang up in Hempstead…"

 _And the rest is history,_ Joe thought, putting his phone down. He gazed over the heads of the seated passengers next to him, outside the bus's grimy windows at the city passing by. The vehicle crested a hill and gave them all a clear view across the bay for a few minutes. Many buildings in San Francisco proper still bore the marks of the monster battle that had raged through the region three months ago. With the Big Apple gone, the Great Recession had turned into the Second Great Depression. Millions of jobs were lost in months. The stock market suffered a near-total implosion. _And then just when we thought things were finally starting to get better, the monsters attacked us again._ His teeth clenched and his good hand tightened into a fist around the overhead rung. _Monsters…they've ruined so many people's lives. If they don't stomp on you, they'll destroy your house, your school, your church, your workplace. And if they don't do any of that to you, they'll do it to the people you love. Our world would be better off if every single one of them died right now._ Then, his thoughts drifted unbidden back to a few months ago…

* * *

 **Oakland, Tactical Operations Command. May 6** **th** **, 2014.**

"…if you don't hit a skyscraper on the way in, you rendezvous at Rally Point Charlie, right here." Major Williams indicated the location on the map.

"Doctors," Corporal Garcia asked of the scientists, "Any guesses where to look?"

Serizawa stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Underground," he answered. "If the MUTOs have finished mating, they will likely be digging a nest."

"And they'll have put the warhead with the eggs," Vivienne added.

 _Eggs?_ Joe thought. _That can't be good. Eggs mean baby MUTOs. And baby MUTOs could mean the end of humanity._ He scratched at the new cast on his arm, which itched something fierce. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ford walk into the briefing room and his heart soared. _Oh, thank you, God._ He had feared the worst when he was informed about the female MUTO's attack on the train that Ford had been riding. He turned away from the proceedings and hurried toward his son. "Ford!"

Ford's eyes widened as he approached. "Dad? Is that you?"

"It's me, son." Joe let out a sob of relief and embraced Ford—a sob that turned into a gasp of pain upon trying to include his injured arm in the embrace. "Aaaaahh!"

"What's wrong? Your arm?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm just so glad you're alive. I thought you were dead for sure."

"Come on, Dad, I already survived two MUTO attacks before that. I think I'm getting the hang of it. Hey, have you heard anything about Sam and Elle?"

"Yes. I spoke to Elle before the MUTOs' EMP fried the phones. She sent Sam with Amanda and Tim when they left the city. He's safe with them. But Elle stayed behind to help out at the hospital."

Ford did a double-take. "Wait, what? Elle's still in the city? I told her to get out with Sam." The barest hint of fear crept into his normally-stoic expression, which told Joe that he was nearly paralyzed with terror.

"I'm sorry, son. I tried, but I couldn't persuade her to leave. She said, 'You and Ford are doing your parts. I'm going to do mine, no matter what happens.'"

Ford sighed. "Yep, that's just like Elle. Okay, there's nothing we can do about it now. They need me on this mission."

He started towards the briefing table, but Joe grasped his arm. "Wait. Before you came in, the Monster Lovers—" He indicated the two scientists, "—said the MUTOs probably put the warhead in their nest. You know what that means, right?"

"A nest. Eggs?"

"Yes. And if those eggs are allowed to hatch, we'll never see the end of the MUTOs. If you find it, you have to destroy the nest. Promise me. Do whatever it takes. Otherwise, Sam will grow up in a world overrun by those things…if he even grows up at all.

Internally, Ford rolled his eyes. Joe had always had a penchant for drama. But he put a reassuring hand on his father's shoulder. "Okay, dad. I promise."

"Lieutenant Brody!" called Captain Hampton from the briefing table. "Glad you could make it, kid. Now get your ass over here!"

Father and son exchanged one last nod, then Ford turned and strode away to join his comrades for the mission. Hours later, Joe would watch helplessly through a pair of binoculars as the rampaging female MUTO massacred the squads of soldiers who tried to stop her from taking the warhead back. She disabled the boat they had commandeered to transport the nuke away, before slowly bending her head to the deck and devouring the lone survivor. A few final, defiant gunshots flashed against her skin just before her jaws closed, and she seemed to take great pleasure in the kill. So much pleasure that she didn't sense Godzilla coming until he slammed into her broadside. Caught completely off-guard, the MUTO could only flail in vain as the ancient predator forced her mouth open and fired a blast of hyperaccelerated plasma from his throat down hers. The MUTO stopped struggling and seconds later, her neck disintegrated from the inside out.

Joe hadn't wanted to admit it, but in that moment he knew the last soldier the creature killed was Ford.

* * *

Next time: Drs. Serizawa and Graham make a horrifying discovery. The CCGS _Hudson_ 's research team continues their investigation. Joe stumbles across classified information regarding the Skull Island Incident. Elle continues her attempts to heal.


	3. Chapter 3: Ape-ocalypse Now

**En route to Monarch Facility Zulu. Location: Classified. Present Day.**

Serizawa's phone buzzed in his pocket. His heart leaped as he pulled it out and saw the name on the display: Bill Randa. The sole survivor of the Skull Island Incident, and the current Director of Monarch. At the same time, Graham produced her phone, which was also vibrating, and their eyes met. He hesitated, then pushed the "accept" prompt and put it to his ear. "Serizawa here."

Vivienne did the same. "And Graham."

"Hello, Doctors," replied the gravelly voice of the Monarch director. "I assume you've been briefed on where you're going and what you're doing?"

"Yes, sir. If I may ask, how did the meeting with the Council go?"

"Better than I'd feared, worse than I'd hoped. I'll send you two all the details soon, but in a nutshell, the Council is very disappointed with our performance over this past decade…I would be too, in their place. Two horrible monster attacks in six years, and what have we delivered? True, we helped stop those MUTOs from overrunning the world, but the Council made it very clear that if we don't find a way to significantly reduce the damage of the next attack, or stop it completely, then Monarch will be dissolved."

"But, sir," Graham asked. "How are we supposed to do that when we don't even know when or where the next attack will happen?"

"I was considering that problem myself, Doctor. Firstly, we need to figure out a way to track these creatures. Any ideas?"

Serizawa answered, "There is someone who was able to track and record the MUTOs' calls, sir. A civilian named Joe Brody. But he turned us down when we tried to recruit him."

"Ah yes, Joe Brody." Randa's voice turned thoughtful. "I remember you telling me about him. Why did he turn you down? I'm sure his reasons are filed in a report somewhere, but I'd rather hear it from you."

Serizawa nodded at his colleague. She replied, "He seems to hold us partially responsible for his son Ford's death, and I would guess that he feels the same way about the death of his wife in the first Janjira Incident, in 1999. I don't think he would want to work with an organization that specializes in studying the creatures that killed his wife and son."

"I can understand that, though it's not very rational. Did either of you, by any chance, tell him about the people you've lost?"

"We made the implication, sir," Vivienne responded. "But we didn't want to push him too much. We weren't getting through to him very well, if at all. Perhaps if you could speak to him…?"

"Oh, no. That wouldn't be a good idea, Dr. Graham. You know me—I've never been a people person like you. Which begs the question of how I landed this job…anyway, you said he 'partially' blames us for his wife and son's death. Who else do you think he holds responsible?"

"Well, the MUTOs, of course. But I'm also certain that he blames himself most of all. If you remember, sir, his son, Ford, came to Japan to help him get out of jail for trespassing in the Janjira QZ, which set them on the path that lead to Ford's death. He also advised his son to try and destroy the MUTOs' nest if at all possible, for which we believe the female killed Ford in revenge."

"Interesting…I may have an idea to get him onboard. Alright, I'll let you two go; tracker shows you're almost at the facility. You have a lot of work to do, Doctors. Good luck."

"And to you, sir," Serizawa said and hung up. He turned his gaze out the helicopter window, where forested mountains passed away beneath them as far as the eye could see.

As Randa predicted, the pilot soon called back to them: "Coming up on our destination, docs!" Over the next mountain, the buildings of Monarch Facility Zulu came into view. The largest one had a helipad on top, which the pilot maneuvered the craft towards.

An hour later, Serizawa and Graham had donned NBC suits and were poking through the remains of the deceased adult MUTOs in a massive, radiologically-shielded lab. They spent six days on that examination before moving on to the babies. Not all of them were burned; while inspired, Ford's hastily-improvised gasoline explosive hadn't managed to destroy all the eggs. However, since their food source—the nuclear warhead—was taken by Ford's comrades, the survivors who did hatch quickly died of starvation. By the time Monarch had secured the site, none of the MUTOlings were still alive. Serizawa almost regretted that…almost. _We could have learned much from living specimens…that would have been at a more manageable size than their parents._ Each one was about as large as a Golden Retriever, regardless of gender—their sizes would probably have diverged later in their lives.

"Moving to lower abdomen," Graham said. Serizawa grabbed hold of their current specimen—an unburnt male, judging by the wings—to keep the body steady as she used her scalpel to make another incision in the creature's lower body. She then put the tool down and grasped the male's left hind leg, while Serizawa shifted his grip to the corresponding right leg. "On three." Graham counted, "One…two…three!"

The two scientists pulled, and the MUTOling's abdomen strained for a heartbeat before it split open with a wet _splorch_. They took a few moments to catch their breath before resuming their examination, taking pictures with a lead-coated camera to document their progress. Its digestive system outwardly looked somewhat similar to that of other animals before and after the Radiozoic Period, but its intestines were short and linear, and its "stomach" had few muscles with a small hollow space at the center, surrounded by strange, spongy, dark tissue similar in color the creature's skin. Serizawa placed some samples of the dark tissue in test tubes for later analysis, and then helped Graham scoop the digestive system out of the body so they could analyze what was under it.

A single, ovular, whitish organ nestled up against the spinal cord caught Serizawa's eye. It was slightly less than a quarter the size of a ping-pong ball. "Testis," he said, pointing to it.

Graham nodded. "It doesn't look very much like the adult male, but that's to be expected." The adult's testis had a fan of fractal-like projections radiating out from its center mass.

"But, I feel like it looks familiar, somehow…" Serizawa murmured under his breath.

"What was that?"

"…nothing." Serizawa shook his head and the two scientists continued their work. Several hours later, they had finished with the baby male and a female, and weariness was tugging at their limbs. Sweat beaded on their skin, despite their suits' built-in air-conditioning systems. He could see Graham's eyes drooping through the glass of her helmet, and his muscles burned with fatigue.

"Let's call it for today, sensei."

"No, I am okay. We can keep going," he responded, trying and failing to keep his voice from slurring with exhaustion.

"We have been examining these creatures twelve hours a day for the past week. We will not do anyone a favor by working ourselves until we collapse. We need to stop and get some food and rest."

Serizawa hesitated, and then conceded her point. "…very well." He pushed a button on the wrist of his suit. "We are done for today. Start decontamination procedures."

"Affirmative, Dr. Serizawa!" came the radioed reply. With that, the two scientists shuffled towards the exit to the lab.

An hour afterward, they had exited their NBC suits, finished the final radiation checks, and were eating hearty meals while comparing notes on the creatures. _A plate full of food…a luxury many these days do not get_. But Serizawa was too tired to feel guilty about feasting during a Depression for long. The two scientists soon finished their dinners, being sure to not let any go to waste, and returned their dishes to the facility's kitchens. They then proceeded to their quarters—two small rooms, right next to each other. After saying goodnight, Serizawa changed into his nightclothes and fell into bed with a relieved sigh. But sleep eluded him initially…the male MUTOling's testis still bothered him. _Where have I seen that before?_ The Japanese man tossed and turned for half an hour, but his sleep-deprived mind refused to provide him with answers. With a sigh, he decided to try some meditation techniques his father had taught him. _I hope that with a good night's sleep, I can get to the root of this issue._

The meditation paid off, and before long Serizawa was fast asleep.

* * *

 **Monarch Black Site, area once known as "Central Park", former New York City. January 22** **nd** **, 2008.**

The retrofitted tank growled forward, the massive drill on its gun turret whining as it spun up. The whine turned into an earsplitting screech when the drill made contact with the Large Scale Aggressor's skin, and Serizawa winced despite the noise-cancelling headphones he wore. Beside him, Graham wrote something down on her notepad and showed it to him. _Here's hoping this one doesn't shatter like the last few drills did._

He nodded. The engineers had installed a blast shield at the drill's base in case that happened, and they along with all the other personnel had retreated to a safe distance, outside the radius of any shrapnel. Still, he couldn't help feeling rather frustrated—if they had to go to such extreme lengths just to cut the LSA's skin, there was no way they could examine the creature properly before it rotted. The beast's flesh had so far defeated all their sharpest, most potent drills, save for this latest one, which was tungsten carbide tipped with diamond. The corpse was already starting to smell, though thankfully the wind blew most of the scent away from them.

At the same time, however, he wasn't all that surprised at the creature's insane durability. After all, only an insanely durable creature would have been able to survive the enormous pressure of the deep ocean. Only an insanely durable creature would have been able to take as much punishment as it did from the military, shrugging off armor-piercing tank shells and incendiary missiles for hours before the HAMMER-DOWN Protocol's thermobaric bombs finally managed to kill it. But the Protocol's astronomical cost was evident with a single look around the area, at the smoldering ruins of New York City…or rather, the Former New York City. Four days after the attack, many of the fires still burned, since Monarch had only bothered to put out the ones that would otherwise impede their operations. The once-beautiful Central Park was a blasted wasteland, its lakes vaporized, surrounded by the bombed-out husks of Upper Manhattan's buildings. Serizawa thought he saw a partial human skeleton lying nearby, missing its pelvis and legs, and shuddered.

Just then, the drill's screech lowered in volume. He looked back at the tank and his heart sank as he saw that it was slowing down. "What is happening?" he asked into the radio.

"Engine has burnt out, Dr. Serizawa," the operator's voice replied. "We managed to scratch it, at least…"

Serizawa let out a frustrated sigh. "This is never going to work. We have to find another way. Let's review the footage, Vivienne."

Graham followed him back to the main research tent, where they spent the next several hours poring over all the footage they could find of the beast, hoping to find some clue, anything on how to reach its innards. Going in through its mouth was a no-go; its larynx had collapsed upon death. Then, just when he felt on the verge of giving up completely, Graham said, "Look there," and pointed at an overhead helicopter video. As they watched, one of the two smaller limbs on its abdomen reached down and snatched up a horse from a carriage. Rather than bring the horse up to its mouth, however, the limb enveloped the poor animal, seeming to swallow it whole. The resulting bulge traveled up the limb and back to the abdomen.

"Those must be external projections of the stomach," Graham guessed. "External esophagi. We could travel through them."

"It is worth an attempt at least," Serizawa agreed.

Several days later, after using helicopters to pull and straighten out one of the external esophagi, a team of trailblazers entered the appendage, setting up scaffolding inside it as they went to make things easier for subsequent travelers. It took them a few hours, but they eventually reached the stomach and found that the creature's inner tissues were, thankfully, much less difficult to cut through than its skin. Although the limited avenue of entry and exit still somewhat hampered the research team's examination and analysis of the creature, it still proceeded far more quickly than it would have if they continued trying to drill into its skin. That did not mean it was pleasant, however. In their time, Serizawa and Graham had performed a number of unsavory actions in the name of advancing science. Crawling down a giant creature's gut in an NBC suit to perform a necropsy on it from the inside ranked as one of the foulest deeds either of them had ever done.

Among many other things, they found a single testis. It was whitish and ovular.

* * *

 **Atlantic Ocean, CCGS** _ **Hudson**_ **. Present Day.**

Dr. Roy MacDonald stood on the _Hudson_ 's deck with his students, awaiting Bonnie and Clyde's return. He'd asked Vasquez and Duke, the other ROV pilot, to collect as much of Martha's remains as they could and bring her back to the surface. That had been almost an hour and a half ago. _Hopefully whatever took out Martha doesn't think_ two _ROV's would be a tasty meal_.

Vasquez's voice crackled from the walkie-talkie on MacDonald's hip. "Twenty fathoms, Doc. Over."

The scientist pushed the device's "talk" button. "Roger that, Vasquez. Over." Followed by his students, he strode over to the edge of the deck and peered at the ocean. Bubbles from the returning ROV's were beginning to froth at the surface near the _Hudson_ 's hull, and slowly increased in intensity until, a minute later, Bonnie and Clyde appeared from the depths and burst through the water film with two splashes, one right after the other. Both of the craft clutched Martha's remains in their grippers. _Maybe we'll get some answers now._ The _Hudson_ lowered its crane to bring first Bonnie and then Clyde onboard, depositing them right next to the waiting research team. The ROV pilots had them release their cargo, and MacDonald's students laid the broken pieces of Martha on a tarp a few metres away to begin examining them. At that moment, Jimmy the mechanic arrived on the scene from belowdecks.

Upon seeing his "baby" in such a sorry state, Jimmy swallowed and looked away. Once he had forced back the tears, he returned his gaze to the ROV's damage. Whatever destroyed Martha had cut her almost completely in half, and it had been a large cut, almost a metre and a half across at its widest. Jimmy raised his eyebrow in a quizzical fashion. "That don't like no bite," he remarked, pointing to the broad gash carved through the ROV's guts. "No tooth marks. Looks more like something took a swipe at her with a claw or a tail."

"What could possibly have done that?" asked LeBeau, a student. The ROV's were each the size of a small car…when intact, at least. Their size alone should have deterred any potential enemies, and neither MacDonald nor any of the other students knew of predators with claws or tails that would fit the size of the gouge slashed into Martha.

Jimmy gave a helpless shrug. "Y'all are the ones who're supposed to know that. I'm just the grease monkey, remember?"

"Doctor," called a student named Julie, "I think I have something." She was peering into Martha's exposed innards.

"What is it?" MacDonald asked her, striding over.

She pointed. "See that?"

The scientist followed her finger and saw a small piece of stone lodged in Martha's guts at the gouge's terminus. He nodded. "I do. Well spotted, Julie. Maybe that will give us some insight…somehow."

The stone had embedded itself quite firmly in the metal of Martha's frame, forcing Jimmy to get his plasma cutter and slice it free. MacDonald expected the stone to soften or maybe even melt when the cutter contacted it, but that did not happen. Once freed, he saw that it had a very slight concave curve to it—so slight that an untrained eye would have easily missed it. The scientist had Julie take it down to the lab to run some tests and see what she could find out. In the meantime, he and the rest of his students went to the ship's conference room and pored over the scant data that Martha had transmitted before her demise, hoping to find other clues to what had killed her. LeBeau also examined the footage from Bonnie and Clyde's sweep of the area before they had salvaged their sister ROV.

The research team made little progress, and after an hour, their frustrations were mounting when Julie suddenly burst into the conference room. "Doctor!" she gasped, out of breath from running. They all spun their heads toward her. "Doctor," she said again, coughing. "You would not believe what I just found."

"If the tests say so, I'll believe it. Tell me."

"The stone," she said, her breathing slowing down. "The stone, it's not made of stone! It's made of…keratin."

The conference room went dead silent as the implications of the discovery struck them all like a thunderbolt. Then everyone started chattering and asking questions at once. MacDonald's mind began whirling and he shouted, "QUIET!"

His voice boomed in the confines of the conference room, and the roar of excited voices died away. "Thank you. Now let's piece this together." He grabbed a marker from the ledge next to the room's whiteboard and began writing. First, he scrawled the word _keratin_. "Keratin is almost exclusive to vertebrates, yes?" His students murmured assent, and he wrote _exclusive to vertebrates_ half a metre away from _keratin_ , drawing an arrow to connect them. "So what does it make up in vertebrates?"

The answers floated back to him: "Claws…scales…hair…skin…" He drew three arrows away from _exclusive to vertebrates_ and labeled each one with those respective words, excluding "hair" because the stone was obviously not a hair.

"So here's what our stone could possibly be." He tapped _scale_ with his marker first. "Do we think it's a scale?"

The students looked at Julie, who shook her head. "No, Doctor. It didn't have any of the other compounds in it that we associate with scales."

"Thank you, Julie." He put an X through _scale_. "Do any of us think it's a skin fragment?"

No-one raised their hands. "Good. I didn't think so either." _Skin_ was crossed out. "That leaves 'claw'. This is our most likely candidate, judging by the slight curve to its shape and its relative position to the gash that bisected Martha." He circled the word. "But if it came from a claw, then that claw must have been on a tetrapod vertebrate, a vertebrate with limbs." MacDonald drew an arrow away from _claw_ and labeled its point _vertebrate with limbs_. "How many of you know of a tetrapod vertebrate with claws that lives in the deep ocean?"

The students all looked at each other blankly. Some looked just a little bit sad, as though they thought they were disappointing their professor by not being able to answer. "It's okay. Because I can't think of any either." He let the words sink in, saw the sad expressions brighten and turn to excitement. An excitement that he felt as well, building deep inside himself. MacDonald took a deep breath and said, "My students…we may have just discovered a new species of deep-sea vertebrate. A big one."

LeBeau raised his hand. "Doctor, I think I may have an idea of just how big this creature is. I'll show you guys with the projector."

"Okay, LeBeau." MacDonald pulled down the projector screen in front of the whiteboard and took a seat while his student turned the device on. "Let's hear it." Was it his imagination, or did the kid's hands tremble as he worked the projector?

LeBeau pulled up an image on the screen. It showed a gridded map of the area where Martha had met her end, a map compiled from Bonnie and Clyde's survey of the area before they returned to the surface with Martha's remains. On the map was the series of depressions that replaced the strange hills discovered by the first ROV. "So this is what Bonnie and Clyde found," he explained. "And this is what Martha found." The scrawny, redheaded grad student overlaid another grid image on top of the map. The initial set of sonar scans covered the same general area as the depressions.

"Look," he said, and jabbed with a laser pointer, tracing out a shape around the hills' periphery.

"Jesus," somebody said at almost the same moment McDonald began to see the pattern. It was a shape that looked vaguely vertebrate in appearance: a collection of central hills for the body, four ridges spreading out from that center to form the limbs, and a fifth ridge for the tail.

The kid went on, as if he hadn't heard anything his audience was saying. "If we draw a line from the head to the end of the tail…" LeBeau did just that with a red pen. MacDonald looked down at the size indicator for each square of the grid, counted up the length in his head, and felt his gut clench.

"My god," Julie gasped. "It's over 300 metres long!"

* * *

 **Monarch Facility Zulu. Location: Classified. Present Day.**

With a gasp, Serizawa sat bolt upright in bed. He checked his watch—3:27 AM—and scrambled to his feet. He pulled on a bathrobe for warmth, grabbed his slippers, and hurried through the facility's well-lit corridors, heading back to the labs. At this hour of the night, they were almost deserted save for a single junior scientist acting as the night watch. "Hello, Dr. Serizawa," she greeted him, far too cheerfully for someone up at this time. "You're up early. Anything I can do for you?"

"Yes. Bring me the files on the male MUTOling and the ones on the Large Scale Aggressor."

"Of course, sir. Right away." The young woman scurried off to fetch his requests, while he paced impatiently. After what felt like forever, she returned carrying two thick folders labeled "Infant MUTO, Male" and "Large Scale Aggressor", respectively, and laid them on a nearby table. "Sorry that took so long, sir. The LSA's files were buried pretty deep."

"It is no problem. Thank you," he said gratefully. He opened both folders and began frantically flipping through the files.

"Should I send for Dr. Graham, sir?" the junior scientist asked.

"Not if I am wrong. Which you should pray that I am." The files were well-organized and categorized, which allowed him to quickly find what he was looking for in both folders. He held up the two pictures, side by side, and his blood ran cold. The resemblance was clear, unmistakable, and almost uncanny. He looked through several other files and compared the numbers…there could be no doubt about it. He took a deep breath and said to the young woman, "If you prayed, it was not answered. Fetch Dr. Graham, quickly."

"Yes, Doctor." The junior scientist hurried off, while Serizawa returned to pacing. He checked his watch again. 3:52 AM.

Nine minutes passed by the time the scientist returned with Dr. Graham in tow, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. However, any of Vivienne's residual drowsiness evaporated the moment Serizawa told her what he had found. "Oh my God…" she breathed, her face turning even whiter than her usual pale complexion. "We have to report this to the Director."

"I could not agree more, ." The two scientists made several calls to the facility's night staff and soon, they were able to get a video link to Director Randa in a conference room. The old man's face and upper body appeared on a screen in front of them, looking somewhat annoyed and sitting in a rather uncomfortable-looking folding chair. "What is it, doctors? I heard it was urgent. I hope you're not wasting my time. I had to cut short an important meeting with the Japanese Minister of Defense."

"We're sorry, sir," Vivienne apologized. "But while comparing the remains of the infant MUTOs, we made an important discovery. We thought it best to tell you right away."

Randa folded his arms. "I'm listening."

Serizawa tapped at the keyboard on his laptop, sending Randa some files. "When we found the testis in a male, it looked nothing like the testis of the adult male. However, I later realized that it looked very similar to the one that was found in the remains of the creature that attacked Old New York City."

"Additionally," Graham put in, "We found that the Cloverfield creature's bodily proportions were much closer to the infant MUTOs than the adults."

They saw Randa's eyes flick down and scroll back and forth as he skimmed through the files. "So, what, you're telling me that the Large Scale Aggressor was just a _baby_?"

"Yes, sir. It was not sexually mature yet. An adolescent at most. I wish to God we could say otherwise, but the evidence is too strong," Vivienne affirmed.

"I see. And how in the hell did we not know this until now?"

"We had no related species to compare the LSA against until we acquired the MUTOs' bodies." Serizawa rubbed his glasses. "And where there is a baby, there is likely to be a parent. An adult of Cloverfield's species would be absolutely colossal, sir—perhaps even larger than Gojira himself. As we observed, the female MUTO exhibited enough intelligence to know who killed her offspring and, in pursuing Ford Brody as relentlessly as she did, showed very strong protective parental instincts. We know that the MUTOs are related to Cloverfield's species—if the latter displays similar behavior, and the parent did appear…" He let his voice trail off.

"It would make the rampage of its offspring seem like a child throwing a tantrum in comparison, sir," Vivienne finished.

Randa said nothing for several moments, his expression inscrutable. Then: "Alright, this information is all very scary. But what exactly should I _do_ now that you've told me all this?"

"We need to search the oceans, sir," Vivienne offered. "The original Cloverfield was adapted for living in the deep sea. It's likely that if its parent, or parents, are out there, they will also be hibernating in the far depths."

Randa passed a hand over his nearly-bald head and sighed. "Doctors, surely you're aware that we've explored more of the Solar System than our oceans? Even if I devoted all of Monarch's resources, we couldn't possibly find the LSA's parent…or parents…in a reasonable amount of time unless we got really, really lucky. We've got to narrow it down."

"Well, the Cloverfield creature originally came from here." Serizawa sent him an image of the Atlantic Ocean, with a point marked on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge's western edge: the former site of the defunct Tagruato Corporation's Chuai Station. "We can start there and expand the search outward."

"That's something, I guess," Randa grumbled. "But once again, we need to figure out a better way to find and track these creatures. Joe Brody may be our best hope for that." Vivienne opened her mouth to protest, and he held up a hand to forestall her. "But leave him to me. Was there anything else?"

The two scientists exchanged glances and shook their heads. "No, sir. If we think of something, we'll give you a call."

"Make sure you do it when I'm awake, unless it's really urgent. And I mean _really_ urgent—as in, Mama Cloverfield is destroying Washington, DC urgent."

"Understood, Director."

"You're dismissed. Randa out." The old man's face vanished, leaving them in darkness.

* * *

 **San Francisco.**

Joe stepped up to his door and fished his keys out of his pocket with his good hand. He fumbled with them, dropped them, picked them up again with a sigh. Finally, he managed to find the right key and insert it into the lock. He turned, pushed, and the complex's door swung open before him. He repeated the key-fumbling process at his mailbox, though he managed to avoid dropping them a second time. _If I can get in my room without that happening again, it'll be a good day._ He passed the keychain to his good hand, reached inside the mailbox, and pulled out the contents, to be examined in his room later. It would probably just be junk, as usual. Most days, Joe didn't even bother to check his mail, but he had to do it every now and then or the landlady would not be pleased at him for letting it fill up. He tucked the sheaf of envelopes under his cast and closed the mailbox.

His mail acquired, Joe proceeded up the three flights of stairs to reach his little apartment. The complex had shut off its elevator as a cost-cutting measure several years ago during the height of the Depression, and hadn't switched it back on since. _And that's not likely to happen soon, thanks to the monsters…at least I'm not losing my shit every time the floor shakes._ He'd heard about the problems plaguing the city, people freaking out whenever a vehicle blew its horn, or a door creaked, or the ground rumbled for whatever reason. But the only reason Joe didn't have those problems was because he'd already had them many years ago, after Sandra died. _And I didn't get better, so much as I got…less bad._

He was wheezing by the time he reached his floor, and paused to catch his breath. Then, he plodded down the hall to his room: 316. Having kept his keychain dangling from his bad hand, he was able to access it with somewhat more ease and even avoided dropping them again. _Look at me, I'm on a roll_. Soon he had entered his small apartment, put down his briefcase, shrugged free of his jacket, and plopped down at his desk to flip through his post. Almost all junk mail, none to Joe's great surprise. Mostly scummy-looking offers from various bankruptcy protection firms. A few bills—he was already behind on those. _But then again, almost everyone is behind on their bills these days._ Everything else except for those went straight to his recycling bin.

With that done, the engineer-cum-self-trained scientist leaned back from his desk to reflect on his day. He'd managed to squeeze in two job interviews…not that it mattered, since he knew neither of those prospective employers would be calling with an offer. One had even been at a power plant in the city—the exact sort of place he had the most experience in. _Granted, the tech has changed a lot in the last fifteen years…but the underlying principles are still the same._ He reached over to his laptop and flipped it open. Joe spent about half an hour browsing more prospective job options before his stomach growled. With a sigh, he got up from his desk and went to his sorry excuse of a kitchen to fix himself dinner.

As he boiled some spaghetti, he looked out the window and saw Ford's car—now Elle's car—parked outside her house just across the street. That had been his primary reason for choosing this apartment: it was close to Elle and Sam, the only family he had left in the world that mattered to him. If Elle had to work late, he could just take a stroll across the road to watch over Sam. _I owe her and Sam that much after what happened to Ford._ He closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly and calmly; several months since his son's death and he still had yet to tell his daughter-in-law and grandson what had really happened. _It's my fault he's dead. If I hadn't told him to destroy the MUTO nest…_

It took tremendous effort, but Joe managed to keep from crying and finished fixing his dinner. He put the food on a TV tray and took it to the worn, faded couch, then fetched his laptop from the office so he could watch the news while he ate. It wouldn't exactly be sunshine and butterflies, but at least it would keep him from thinking about Ford.

As he expected, there was little good to be found on the bulletins. More economic woes for a country that had already suffered a financial catastrophe just six years ago. Thousands of San Francisco residents traumatized by the monster battle were overwhelming mental hospitals and psychiatrists, making a dire fiscal situation even worse as they found themselves unable to do their jobs without having panic attacks if a vehicle sounded its horn somewhere, if a door creaked, or if the floor trembled even the slightest bit. Only one ray of hope showed through all the bad news: Lily Ford announcing that her charity, the Ford Foundation, would be expanding its operations into the areas devastated by the monsters. Las Vegas, the Bay Area, even Hawaii would all receive the Foundation's aid.

 _Bless her heart. If only she'd been around fifteen years ago…_ Just then, Joe's phone buzzed, and a familiar name appeared on the display. _That's strange. I thought she wasn't working late tonight?_ He picked it up. "Evening, Elle."

"Hey, Joe. I'm guessing your interview didn't go as you hoped?"

"You guessed right…except it was interview _s_. Two of them, both failures."

"Damn. That's too bad." She sighed.

"Tell me about it. So what can I do for you?"

"I'm taking Sam to this…thing. It's kind of private. But I think I forgot to lock the door on my way out. Could you go check? The spare key is in the birdhouse, just like always."

"Of course. Have fun at this…thing?"

"It's not that sort of thing."

"Oh…okay. Are you two okay financial-wise? Need my help? I have some money stashed away…"

"No, Joe. We're fine economically for now. And even if we weren't, you still don't have a job. How could you be of any assistance to us?"

"You're right. I just wish there was more I could do to support you two." Even as he said it, he knew how hollow the words sounded. _I didn't help them during the Depression when they were struggling._ He put his bad hand to his face. "Look, forget I said anything. I should go check that door."

"Yeah. Thanks again." With that, Elle hung up.

Joe remained sitting on the couch for a few moments before pushing the TV tray off his lap and standing up to walk to his door. His thoughts swirled as he opened it and stepped out into the hall. _When Elle was pregnant with Sam and things were tough on them financially, did I offer to help? No. I was still chasing those goddamn conspiracies._ He knew Elle wasn't being honest with him—he'd already added up the numbers himself. Even with her increased hours at the hospital, she wouldn't be able to keep herself and Sam afloat for more than a year. The military's surviving family benefits, just another casualty of the Depression, had been cut down to a joke. Where that money alone could have helped keep a large family going for years while they adjusted themselves, it now couldn't even sustain a family of two.

Elle had indeed forgotten to lock her door. He procured the spare key from its usual place—a quaint-looking birdhouse painted in various wild colors by Sam—and remedied that, then returned to his apartment still beating himself up for his past failings as a father and a grandfather. However, he was distracted from that by a small message on the bottom of his laptop's screen. "New email from: Descartes."

Joe frowned. He hadn't heard from that man for a while. _Not like I missed him a lot anyway._ They had been partners of sorts during his days of investigating conspiracy theories, particularly the ones about Monarch, sending emails and later instant messages back and forth as they gathered evidence. However, since Monarch had recently stepped at least partway out of the shadows, there wasn't as much need for that. _As if it ever did us any good._ Their last exchange had not ended very amicably, with Descartes refusing to understand how Joe felt: that his paranoid, obsessive drive to investigate intrigues had gotten his son killed.

 _Alright, let's see what he has to say._ He pulled the computer onto his lap, clicked on the message with his good hand, and started reading. "I know we didn't exactly part on good terms last time, Brutus, but you have got to see this. I somehow managed to slip into the deepest, darkest parts of Monarch's systems—it was like they just left the back door open. I found some really juicy stuff. Goodies galore, dating all the way back to their founding. I'll let you see for yourself, but it turns out that creature, Godzilla, didn't wake up in 1954 like the official story said. He turned up at least 5 years earlier! There were also some files on an incident involving a giant monkey or gorilla or something. I've attached them all to this email, with extra encryption. Consider it my way of saying 'I'm sorry.' –Descartes."

Joe sighed. _He still just doesn't get it. This is what put us all on the path that lead to Ford's death._ He moved the mouse to click the "delete" button and hovered over it…then moved it away again. Hovered over it…and moved away. Hovered over it…and moved away. He just couldn't deny his curiosity. _I may as well see what all the fuss is about, at least._ He opened the attached files, starting with the one labeled "Skull Island Incident".

He skimmed the opening section, but the line "These files are considered classified above top secret" got a rueful chuckle out of him. Then his eyes moved to the list of people involved, flicking through at least a thousand names, before drawing in a sharp breath as one leaped out at him: _Serizawa, San_. A line next to it read _Detailed personal file on page 67._ He jumped to that page and began examining it. _Date of birth: January 12_ _th_ _, 1951. Education: Bachelor of Sciences Degree in Geology, Kyushu University, 1965 and PhD in Geology, University of Tokyo, 1975. Languages spoken: Japanese, Mandarin, Korean, English, Russian. Date of death: March 14_ _th_ _, 1978. Cause of death: unstable ground underfoot, previously thought safe. Fell into newly-opened chasm, body never recovered. Surviving relatives: Daisuke Serizawa (father) and Ichiro Serizawa (brother, younger)._ The next page had a series of photographs on it, including one of the woman in question standing arm in arm with two other Japanese men, one older, possibly in his 50's or 60's…and the other was not a man, but a boy, in his early teens at most. The photo was dated February 23rd, 1978—almost forty years ago, but the rimless glasses on the young Ichiro Serizawa were unmistakable.

Another photo showed San Serizawa speaking with a Caucasian man. Joe's eyes nearly blazed past it, but something about his face drew him back. He checked the caption: _Discussing preparations for the expedition with Cpt. James Conrad._ Returning to the list of names, he found Conrad's personal file on page 31. Born on August 30th, 1939. Served with the British SAS from 1970 to 1976…most operations, classified. His date of death was March 17th, 1978, and the cause of death…Joe did a double take to make sure he'd read that right. _Eaten by dromaeosaurs?!_ Yep, that was it. Remains never recovered.

Joe sat back and tried to wrap his head around that idea. Dromaeosaurs. Like the velociraptors of Jurassic Park, only real. And probably covered in feathers, if he had his dinosaur facts straight. They were still alive…or at least they had been relatively recently, in evolutionary terms. The seeming absurdity of it almost made him burst out in a guffaw. _I can believe in gigantic monsters from a bygone era even before the dinosaurs, but I'm having trouble stomaching the idea of living velociraptors?!_

As the laughing passed, he turned his eyes back to Conrad's personal file…and froze. Inside the "Surviving Relatives" box was written a single line: Vivienne Graham (daughter). _Okay, I don't have to be a paranoid conspiracy theorist to know that is_ not _a coincidence._ He scrolled to the photographs page and, sure enough, found one of Conrad at a tropical beach, carrying a pale slip of a girl on his shoulders. The caption read, _On vacation with daughter in Tahiti, July 8_ _th_ _, 1976._ Again, despite nearly 40 years passing since then, he could still see the modern-day Vivienne Graham quite clearly in her younger self.

Serizawa's words after the funeral came back to him: "You are not the only one who has lost people, Mr. Brody."

Joe tossed his head angrily. _Yeah, so what._ He went to hit the "down" key on his laptop, but missed it and pressed the "page down" key several times, bringing him to another personal file about one Glenn Mill. He sighed in irritation and moved his finger to the "page up" key to return to his original position, but then paused as he noticed the date of death: March 11th, 1978. Cause of death: Hemorrhaging after impalement by a tree branch and laceration by shards from a helicopter's windshield. The next person, Arthur Chapman, had died on March 15th, 1978 of…being devoured by something called a _Megarachne giganteus_. His gut lurched. _Mega means big, arachne means spider, giganteus means exactly what it sounds like. Dromaeosaurs, giant spiders…what the hell happened in this Skull Island Incident?_ His curiosity was now piqued, and would not be sated until he answered that question. Taking a deep breath, Joe scrolled on to the rest of the file and started reading.

He spent the next few hours reading the terrifying tale of disaster and woe that had befallen the expedition sent to the eponymous-Skull Island. Every single one of them had suffered a ghastly and probably very painful death…except for a man named Bill Randa. Joe had read plenty of shocking things during his days as a conspiracy theorist, but this absolutely took the cake. By the time he finished, his jaw had grown slack with horror. The story painted by the report made the monster attack from a few weeks ago look like a minor inconvenience at most. It was like Apocalypse Now...with a giant ape. An Ape-ocalypse Now.

 _So this is what Serizawa was trying to tell me. He lost his sister, and Graham lost her father. Just like me with Sandra, they didn't even get to bury a body. I sure as hell know how that feels..._ There were now many, many people in the US and Japan who, like them, would not be able to lay their loved ones' remains to rest thanks to the monsters. And there would be many more when the next attack came.

He recalled his own words from the speech at the funeral. "I promise you, I will not let Ford's death be in vain." Weeks later, here he was, with no job, failing to live up to that promise. And if Joe continued trying to get someone, anyone of these stupid "Joe jobs" to hire him, he would never be able to fulfill it.

 _Enough is enough._ With a grunt, he stood up from the sofa and retrieved his jacket from the closet nearby, draping it over his cast-bound arm while he used his good hand to rifle through its pockets. Left waist…nothing. Right waist…zilch. Left chest…he brightened as his groping hand came into contact with his copy of _Moby Dick_ and with it, Dr. Serizawa's card. Joe put the card in his bad hand and pulled his phone out of his pants with another, hesitated, and then dialed the number.

The dial tone droned in his ear for a moment, only to be replaced by the sound of ringing. Ring…ring…ring…he counted three times before the fourth one was abruptly cut off and a voice answered the other end. "This is Dr. Serizawa."

"Serizawa. This is Joe Brody."

"Ah, Mr. Brody. I see you kept my card."

"Yes, I did. I've kept your offer in mind as well and…" Joe inhaled and exhaled a long, slow breath. "I've decided to accept."

"You have?" Surprise colored the Japanese man's tone. "I see. Very well, Mr. Brody. I'm very glad to hear it-"

"Ah, ah, ah." Joe cut him off. "Before you get too excited, I have some conditions. Firstly, understand that I'm not doing this for you or your monsters. I'm doing it for me and my family. Secondly, as long as I'm working for you, you make sure Elle and Sam Brody have enough money to get by. I'm old; I don't really care about money anymore. They need it more than I do. Thirdly, you never. Lie. To me. Again. Are we clear?"

"Of course, Mr. Brody. Crystal clear. We'll be-"

"And don't you dare say 'We'll be in touch'. Or 'We'll call you'. Or 'Expect to hear from us soon'. I'm so fed up with hearing those, if someone says something like that to me again, I may just turn into a monster myself."

Serizawa went silent. "…alright, Mr. Brody," he replied at last. "I will get in touch with you within three days."

"A concrete deadline. That's more like it," Joe said approvingly. "I'll hold you to that." He hung up, and looked out his window at the sunset blazing across the bay. _Well, there's no going back now._

* * *

Next time: Joe starts his work at Monarch with Drs. Serizawa and Graham. The crew of the CCGS _Hudson_ embark on a chase. Elle finally starts to pick up the pieces of her life.

Afterword: If you were hoping to see more references to Kong himself, I'm sorry to disappoint you. I kept most of the Skull Island details deliberately vague, since the movie isn't out yet. Maybe someday I'll write a spin-off about how I think the Skull Island Incident happened, but if it does happen, it won't be for a while. Also, the next chapter will take a good deal longer for me to write. School has started and I need to buckle down to my studies. But I'll work on it when I can!


End file.
